


Twenty Year Silver

by Sokudoningyou



Category: Dresden Files - Butcher
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-29
Updated: 2006-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sokudoningyou/pseuds/Sokudoningyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Harry Dresden's first day on the job as a self-employed private investigator, and frankly, he really didn't expect a client. But he has to pay the bills somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Year Silver

##### 

I sharpened my last pencil with a slow perfection bordering on obsession, watching the shadows of the afternoon sun across my desk. It spilled across the nine pencils already sharpened, sitting in a perfect line across the wood – which was actual oak, pilfered from a rummage sale – ready to be used. Of course, there were defensive purposes for miniature sharpened stakes, but I doubted even I could piss off any vampires that quickly.

With a perfect tip on its end, the pencil was gathered up with the rest and dumped, eraser first, into a battered tin cup that served as a pen holder. It matched the equally battered old dial phone, complete with My Little Pony stickers from someone’s overzealous children – also snatched from a rummage sale – and didn’t match the crisp new yellow notebook sitting square in the center, ready for notes. Ready for anything, frankly, including introspection on why the hell I thought this was a good idea.

My new office was a small place on the fifth floor, the cheapest place I could find considering my meager expense account. I needed the office to put an address in my Yellow Pages ad, because working out of a basement apartment might have worked well for Halloween parties and séances, but not for a true blue wizard.

And that’s what my ad said:

HARRY DRESDEN – WIZARD Lost Items Found. Paranormal Investigations. No Love Potions, Endless Purses, Parties, Or Other Entertainment.

Bob thought the “No Love Potions” undercut a great potential source of income, but since he was only a spirit who lived vicariously through bad erotic novels, I suppose he thinks everyone’s just as much of a pervert. He also seems to derive plenty of amusement from taunting me with my lack of love life.

It was the first day the ad ran, the only one listed under “Wizard” – and I had the distinction of forcing them to create such a category separate from “Magicians” – and the longer I sat, the more I wondered if this was such a hot idea. Ragged Angel Investigations wasn’t anyone’s idea of a perfect job, but it had been a steady paycheck. Finding lost kids had been the worst part; Chicago is a big, bad city, and not many people care if you’re young, only if you’re pretty and stupid.

Moving to Chicago to assert my independence also might have gone under the header of “Potentially Stupid Decisions” as well, come to think of it; life on the farm had been simple: work hard, appreciate the time left, sleep, and start all over again. But I had gotten the bug up my ass to be on my own, if only to prove I wasn’t the potentially lethal wizard the Council thought I was. Detective work sounded like a good idea at the time, and what red-blooded American male doesn’t consider himself Sherlock Holmes at one time or another?

The smart ones, maybe.

I had to admit that being disappointed at no clients on my first day of business was pretty stupid, all things considered. After all, Nick told me it had taken nearly a week for his phone to ring, and then it had been a crank call. I had placed an ad that seemed ridiculously impossible to the modern mind in a Yellow Pages equivalent to the Oxford Dictionary in size and scope; Nick’s record of a week was likely not to be broken.

Though honestly, what was a wizard going to do for a job? We tend to mix with electricity like oil and water; anything manufactured after the 50’s liked to give up and die whenever we came too close. My current car is a classic Beetle, recently picked up at a police auction after my last beater – a 1942 Packard rusted so badly I prayed every time I drove over railroad tracks – finally died a pathetic death on my last job with Ragged Angel. It almost seemed fitting that I had to go buy another one.

Most wizards tend to stick to the suburbs and farmland, working a living off the land or finding a job that dealt with little to no electricity: vintage car repair, warehouse stocking, self-employment, just to think of a few. And even though I like Nick, working for someone else sucked. Breaking new ground by openly proclaiming my wizard status seemed like a clever idea when I first thought of it. I just hoped I wouldn’t be choking on it come a month’s time and nothing to show for it.

The sun had gone down as I fidgeted and ruminated, and I realized that my first day was technically over. I didn’t want to risk ruining the lights by turning them one, so it was either light some candles or sit in the dark and wait my stubbornness out for a few more hours. There was also the fact that I was getting hungry, and while my well-stocked cabinet of Spaghetti-O’s and peanut butter wasn’t exactly a siren’s call, I did have to eat at some point.

I felt a moment of embarrassment when I locked the door behind me, seeing the bare space where a name plaque should be hanging, but I couldn’t afford one at the moment. All of my last paycheck had gone into the rent and deposit, plus the rent on my basement apartment; I was living off canned goods and largesse from Nick, who supported me but thought I was completely off my rocker. He’d told me straight out he thought I’d last a month before giving up, and that I could have my old job back when I did.

Bah. If he could do it, so could I. I was just being forthright about what I did, instead of hiding the truth behind subterfuge and vague assertions of “luck” in finding the keys. Nick knew enough about the magical world to understand what I did, and to make a solid buck off me in the process, but he was also damned good at evading the truth. No one would believe him if he told them he had a wizard in his employ, and seeing as he wasn’t one himself, he saw no reason to advertise me as such.

The woolgathering ended when I heard a soft, trembling voice ask, “Mr. Dresden?”

Turning around, I ended up staring down at a shrunken old woman who looked old enough to have seen the last century in its infancy, wrapped up in a knitted shawl despite the warm May air. She held a marvelous carved cane in her hand but didn’t appear to need it; despite her small stature, she still looked hale enough to see triple digits. In the other hand she held a piece of paper with some writing on it, presumably my address. “Mr. Dresden? This is the correct address, is it not?”

“If you’re referring to my ad, yes it is. If you’re a bill collector, then you want the lawyer down the hall.”

She actually chuckled at my joke. “No, Mr. Dresden. I came to see if your particular ad was correct. It does say “Paranormal Investigations,” does it not?”

I eyed her again, wondering if I was going to make a habit of attracting the people who expected some fake séance and incense. “Yes, ma’am, it does.” As she rather rudely assessed me, I wondered if she wasn’t instead one of those X-Files fans who thought the government was hiding the truth and I was one of the people who knew the truth. At least that’s what I understood of it from the magazines. Personally, I knew the government had more than a few people who understood damned well about the magical world, and knew to keep clear of it. UFOs and aliens, on the other hand….

“A rather interesting coat, Mr. Dresden, for a warm night. I like it. It reminds me of my late lover.”

“This old thing? Hardly ever leave home without it. You never know when the weather will change.” It was both truth and lie. My mantled duster was long, dark, and waterproof. It fit my arms, it looked good on me – or so I liked to believe – and it hid my more obvious tools of the trade, mainly my blasting rod and staff. The rod was clipped to my belt for easy access; the staff merely looked like part of a silly costume. Normally I didn’t carry all my hardware, but I had pissed off a few people during my last days at Ragged Angel, so I felt justified in looking like an El Dorado extra.

She smiled at me, though there was a deep sadness in her eyes that the smile couldn’t reach. “Of course. Mr. Dresden, would you answer an old woman’s question?”

“As long as it isn’t personal, of course.” I smiled back, being a professional despite my stomach, which was now growling at me. In a few minutes, cannibalism might be justified.

“Can you find my heart?”

* * *

I had to hand it to her; eighty-six years to the month, and she could cook as well as any four star chef. She moved around her kitchen with a startling efficiency despite her age and size, and my hand suffered for every chance I tried to help; she smacked my knuckles five times for holding open cupboards I thought she couldn’t reach. Finally, my chivalry was quietly strangled by my hunger, and I sat down to merely watch her cook.

She had insisted on feeding me before telling me the exact details of what she wanted, and though I hesitated to take advantage, my stomach was singing a different tune; Feed Me, Seymour. So I gallantly drove her back to her home and followed her inside to see a room frozen in time: pictures, furniture, wallpaper and all from nearly thirty years ago, when disco was still cool. All of the pictures were of her and a woman several years younger than her; a sister, perhaps? Whoever she was, I would bet money on her being dead.

Even though the room begged an obvious question, she thrust me through a second door into the kitchen before I could ask or even remove my coat. Then she proceeded to cook and feed me, giving me the larger portion and nibbling on hers like a bird. Finally, I gorged myself enough to feel normal again, and, setting down the utensils, asked my question: “What is it you wanted to hire me for?”

In the silence between question and answer, she unhurriedly made herself a cup of tea. Holding the cup with dainty fingers, she stared pensively into the liquid as if she could tell her fortune by its drowning leaves. “Mr. Dresden, you have to realize that I have been alone for twenty years. The love of my life died suddenly one day; a fire. It was a shock. I was the elder, and we always thought I would be the one to die first. But I persevered. I knew that one day, we would be reunited.

“Lately, an old woman’s pessimism has come to me. My beliefs have given me cold comfort as I’ve grown older, instead of the reassuring knowledge I always expected. I’m scared to die, Mr. Dresden, as my years dwindle to months and days. But mostly, I’m scared to die alone.”

She took a sip of her tea, wetting her lips. They had almost disappeared into her face with age; it was like watching a dried-apple doll in motion. “Then, I saw your ad, Mr. Dresden. The new Yellow Pages of the year, and it carried the singularly most ridiculous ad I’d ever seen; for a _wizard_.”

“Ma’am, I don’t think you understand what my ad meant. I use magic. I don’t speak to the dead. You would want an ectomancer. I can give you his phone number—“

“I’m aware of what you meant, Mr. Dresden. I know what a wizard is. Angela was a wizard, and despite all of her tricks and spells and potions, she died in the simplest manner; by fire.” Her cup of tea was firm in her hands, though her voice was finally beginning to break, showing the emotions she had likely kept bottled for thirty years. “We always expected that I would die first, and we had planned for it. Angela told me wizards live a long time, longer than I could ever try through clean living.

“But, despite all of our plans, all of our assumptions about life and love, Angela died first. I remember the day well; sunny, beautiful. The Cubs were on the radio, and Angela so loved baseball.” She smiled, her eyes widening as she lost herself in her memories. Me, I was content to sit and listen; when you’re being paid to be fed and listen to a good story, you shut up and do so.

“It was the sixth inning when the man attacked. A wizard, just like her. He carried a staff and shot Angela with a blast of bright light, and she screamed. Oh, Lord, how she screamed.” Her hands began to shake finally, the cup and saucer rattling against each other. She slowly set them down, as if aware she might finally drop them. “She attacked him, even as the light burned her clothes, at her _body_. I screamed for help, but none of the neighbors heard me; after it was all over, the police told me everyone – every single person on the block and the next one – was asleep. _ Asleep_, Mr. Dresden. In the brightest hours of the day, everyone was asleep, and the police thought nothing odd of it.

“I tell you, back then we were far more industrious. You look like a hale and hearty young man, Mr. Dresden, but do you understand how unusual this was? For an entire neighborhood to simply lie down and sleep during the noon hours?”

I nodded, and though I didn’t have to say anything, I did anyway. “Sleep compulsion. A few words whispered into the wind to convince everyone within range to fall asleep until a trigger wakes them up.”

“I believe it was the police sirens. But by then, the wizard had killed my love, watching the light burn her body away. It was the most curious thing; she left behind a pile of ashes that he began to dig through. But he didn’t find what he wanted, I suppose, because he began to scream, cursing her. That was too much.” She slowly shook her head, a tear glittering at the corner of her eyes. “I took a frying pan to his head, crying for my Angela. I beat him away from her ashes, and he threw a spell into our home that exploded with fire. Then he hit me, and I was told by the firemen that they found me unconscious in the yard.”

By this time, I was pretty sure who the wizard was who had killed her lover; Chicago’s very own Ripper, though he had been taken care of finally by the White Council, and not by the police. It was a famous unsolved mystery in the city: five women murdered, their hearts cut out, and their bodies set on fire. Only two had been found before they had been incinerated, which is why they had known only their hearts were missing. Wizardly fire tends to burn hotter than your everyday lighter fluid and match combo, which meant he had been making sure no evidence was left behind.

Though if her story was correct, it meant a sixth victim had been attacked that no one knew about. It made a little more sense; the wizard Ripper had been working out a ceremony to call on a particular demon, and the five hearts had been the points of a pentagram. A sixth would have been placed in the middle, completing the focus points. Only a wizard’s heart would have had the power for a proper focus.

But the White Council caught him and executed him before he had found and killed another wizard.

“What did the police investigation turn up?”

She smiled at me, bitterly. “That my Angela had run off, and that the candles we used in the house for lighting had started the fire. They found no evidence of foul play, and since they found no clues linking our attack to the Chicago Ripper, they claimed I was suffering from delusions after hitting my head.”

“Did they know that you and Angela were, ah, together?” I couldn’t think of a nicer way of putting it. Even in this enlightened era, couples of the same sex were viewed with less than a friendly eye. Twenty years ago, they were likely treated like pariahs, if not totally ignored. Me? I figure people can love who they want. Bob tells me it’s just every man’s desire to see hot lesbian action, but what does he know? He’s a freaking talking skull.

“I told them, after they convinced themselves Angela was my niece. In all honesty, though I looked far older than her, I was only three years her elder. She aged far better than I.”

“We tend to do that,” I agreed, though I was starting to fidget despite myself. It was a nice story and all, but it was a murder that had long ago been solved. What did she expect me to do?

She reached forward to take up her cup again, smiling at me over the rim. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dresden. You must think me terribly foolish to bring you here to listen to old tales long revenged. Yes, I know what happened. A friend of Angela’s wore a grey cloak. It wasn’t until after the execution that he came to tell us what happened, and we realized who had killed her. For my sake, he never told them.”

A grey cloak. A Warden. I twitched just slightly at the memory of my own trial. If they had been my friends, I wouldn’t have told the Council either; knowing more particulars of the spell gave them too much knowledge, in my opinion. Plus, they would have descended onto the poor woman, to make sure Angela hadn’t left her anything magical; they would have taken everything away.

“But there _is_ a reason I brought you here.” She handed me a slip of paper then, with an address written neatly in script. “That is where our house once stood. The property is still in my name, though it’s now a fenced in grassy lot.

“I’ve been dreaming vividly these last few months, Mr. Dresden. I know I’m soon to die. And in my dreams, Angela is holding me, telling me that I need to find her so we can take that last step together. She told me your name. She told me you were a wizard.” Her thin, wrinkled finger tapped the paper I held as I stared at her. “She told me I needed you to find her heart.”

“I thought you said it was your heart I needed to find,” I said, more than a bit confused and wary. Having someone’s dreams speak my name and my power didn’t exactly boost my confidence. That’s how you walked into traps.

She laughed, setting her cup down again as tea sloshed over the edge. “Oh, Mr. Dresden, you are a character. Angela’s heart is my heart. She was the love of my life. One day, young man, you’ll know that love yourself. You’ll look back to this conversation and realize exactly what I meant.” Her thin smile was warm as she patted my hand.

* * *

It didn’t take too long for me to drive to the address to verify that it was indeed now just a grassy lot overrun with weeds. A stray cat hissed at me from inside the gate, and I ignored him; Mister would have simply sat on him and proclaimed superiority. I waffled between hexing the lock open and crawling over the fence, and chose the lesser of two evils; breaking and trespassing was a greater sin than simple trespassing.

Thankfully, the fence wasn’t very high. I’m just not a good climber.

After hooking my pants twice, my coat once, and nearly wrenching my ankle, I finally flopped over into the weeds and sneezed. “Good thing I don’t have hay fever,” I sighed, dusting myself off as I stood up. The weeds were knee high on me, which was damned high; no one bothered to cut the grass, apparently. Dandelion fluff was everywhere, clinging to my clothes, and I entertained a guilty moment of simply burning it all to ash. Then I realized I might be burning what I was looking for, and nixed that.

The lot was a fairly nice one by city standards, at least a quarter of an acre, and my shoulders sunk as I knew I was looking for a needle in a haystack. I didn’t have anything to make a focus with, I didn’t even really know what I was looking for, and the weeds were still making me sneeze.

Nick would laugh himself sick. That gave me the resolve to start walking off the perimeter, hoping something might just turn up. Hey, you never know.

It was on my second circuit around that my boot caught the edge of something hard, and sent it flying. Whatever it was looked shiny, and I, like a damned bird, went running after it. I also spent a few more minutes digging through the weeds trying to re-find it, tearing up more than a few handfuls in the process. I was covered in dirt and fluffy crap before my fingers finally closed around a piece of metal.

A locket. I squinted at it, wondering if I was hallucinating. It dangled from its chain, shining in the street light: a silver oval locket, carved with a pentacle and rose vines. It was definitely Angela’s. But it looked better than it should have, if it had been sitting in dirt for twenty years. My fingers tingled as I held it, and I wondered if it was the fact I was a wizard that led me to finding it. An ordinary person might never have found it, no matter how hard they dug.

Against my better judgment, I opened it.

Images assaulted me, of a tall, slender brunette with my client, both of them younger and happy. Angela was obviously powerful, though not a Warden, and they loved each other. They truly did. I could feel their emotions as I held the locket open, and it was beautiful. Both of them had been orphans, like me, only they had found one another. I was still alone, and I felt it acutely.

My eyes closed as hands touched my face, and lips kissed my cheek. Angela. “Find your happiness, wizard, as you have found ours. Do not allow your mother’s sacrifice to be made in vain.”

Several minutes passed before I realized I had dropped the locket and I was standing there, alone. I could feel the wetness on my cheek and knew I had been crying. But it had been so intense; the life the two of them had lost together, thanks to a madman, and at the very last, Angela’s mention of my mother. The women I had never known. If she was alive today, what kind of man would I have become?

I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I picked up the locket and left as clumsily as I had come, coaxing my blue battered Beetle down the street. Did I want to ask my client if she had known my mother? The temptation was there. But it was possible this was all just a coincidence, and I should just give her the locket, collect my pay, and go home and sleep for a week.

And that’s what I did. I gave her locket as she stood in her doorway, wrapped up in a thick blue robe. “Mr. Dresden, you’ve done this old woman a great service,” she said kindly, even as her eyes teared up again. “Money alone can’t repay you for this.”

“I just did my job, ma’am. Just like my ad says.” I had on my professional smile again, even as she patted my hand.

“You have such marvelous power, just like my Angela. And yet, you’ve decided to help others instead of hiding as most wizards do.” She stepped back into the house to pick up an envelope off a side table, and handed it to me. “Continue to do so, Mr. Dresden. Remember my Angela. It is what she would have done, if she had not been murdered.”

Not a bad first day, all things considered. The questions never left my lips. “Goodbye, ma’am. I’m glad I could find your heart.”

She was putting the locket on as I spoke, and she looked up at me one last time. “Call me Margaret, Harry. Just like your mother.” And she closed the door in my stunned face.

* * *

A month into my business, Nick called. “Harry! How goes the investigations? Find Bigfoot yet?”

“No, Nick. I fielded that one over to you. I told them, if anyone was going to find a big, stinky, hairy creature, it would be you.” I was reading the obituaries with a rather morbid obsession, searching for Margaret’s face. I had been doing so ever since she closed the door in my face, knowing she was certain she would die soon. All she had been waiting for is the locket with Angela’s soul, so they could, in effect, die together.

I had discussed it with Bob afterwards, the weird little locket, and he had done his best impression of a shrug. “Containment. Probably, this Angela chick knew she was dying, and knew what the Ripper was after. So she put everything into the locket, emptying her body dry.”

“But he wanted hearts, not souls.” That was the part I had been stuck on, and Bob effectively razzed me.

“Duh, Dresden. Wizards aren’t much without souls. Once she moved her soul into the locket, her body was no longer useful, and the fire destroyed everything. The spell fire was supposed to protect the source of her soul – her heart – which is why the locket survived, but everything else burned. Idiot didn’t realize what she’d done.” He snickered, shaking his head, which is really weird to watch. “Smart lady. Only problem was, now she’s stuck in a piece of metal instead of moving on. So she reaches out to this Margaret…”

“And tells her to find a wizard who can sense her spell. But why me specifically?”

Bob’s eyes had flickered. “You know why, Harry. Because they knew your mother.”

That was a month ago, and the memory still burned. Margaret could have told me about my mother, but she had closed the door. I know so little about my mother, and not much of it good, but I also didn’t know anyone who could even share a memory of her. My father was dead, and I never knew about his family. These two women had been her friends.

“Harry? Earth to Harry Dresden. Is the phone dying on you?” Nick’s voice woke me out of my daydream, and I set the paper down.

“No, Nick. Just thinking. So how’s life on your end, without a lowly sidekick to do the dirty work for you?” Screw brooding on the past. I was living my own life now, and I would find out in my own time. Meanwhile, there was still the rent to pay. Who says wizards have it easy?

  
**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> My first complete Dresden Files fic. Not from the TV show (which isn't bad, but also isn't my style), but from the books, set probably a good year or so before Storm Front.


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